Your Life is Laid Before You: Harry Potter Bad Ends
by Stonecreek
Summary: One moment is all it takes. If events shift just the tiniest bit, the consequences can be dire. These are a series of "normal" events from canon given a nudge toward the horrifying. Because, really, it's so easy to gloss over all the dangers in the HP universe. Sometimes, the simplest changes lead to the biggest upheavals. Moment 4: Dudley's 11th birthday zoo trip.
1. Moment 1

**Your Life is Laid Before You – Harry Potter Bad Ends**

 **A.N. –** This first chapter is set in the movie-verse, because it's the one that got me thinking about other scenarios to tweak. The rest of the chapters will be book-canon, as I far prefer it. The chapters will not be in any chronological order or connected unless otherwise specified. As one should expect in a story of this subject matter, there will be violence, strong language, and little warning for the impending brutalities. I don't own HP; Jo Rowling and corporations too numerous to list do. I do not profit monetarily from this work in any way. Now, on to the main act.

 **Moment 1**

Bill and Fleur's wedding was, to Ron Weasley, already an exercise in torture.

Adding Death Eaters to the mix didn't change things, much, in his mind.

He'd endured the fawning over the bride, put up with the acerbic comments from his Aunt Muriel, and quietly seethed at Krum and Hermione. So, really, the patronus bearing bad news and the subsequent arrival of hooded hoodlums fit. Ron found himself isolated amongst the fleeing party-goers, looking for an escape. One appeared in the form of Hermione, dragging along Harry. Before he knew it, they were being squeezed in the customary experience of apparition.

They'd barely landed before stunningly bright light overtook them. Ron shook his head, more dazed than usual coming out of an apparition. Light wasn't supposed to be a side-effect, was it? He didn't register Hermione's shrill shriek of warning, nor Harry's valiant (but vain) attempt to shield him. Suddenly, the oncoming glow was drawn dark.

There, in the middle of Tottenham Court Road, two shell-shocked teens watched as their best mate made the acquaintance of a red London double-decker bus. The screech of brakes and the empty thud of human meeting metal were background noise dwarfed by the look of absolute astonishment on Ron's face. He gracefully, bonelessly, flew across the road at the collision and crumpled against a wrought-iron fence. Only when the bent and bruised body stilled did Hermione and Harry find it in themselves to finally move.

The breath escapes Ron's body before he even realizes he misses it. His whole existence is overwhelming pain, a crushing ache encapsulating his torso and head. In light of that, the lack of oxygen seems trivial.

It doesn't stop him, however, from greedily sucking it in after the pain has abated and he's allowed to regain himself. From what, he isn't certain; before the massive trauma is a blank. Given the immense hurt associated with that blank, Ron's certain he doesn't want to know.

Intrinsically, he has been altered. He feels it in his center. It goes beyond the mangling of flesh and the lackluster heartbeat. What Ron Weasley once was, he no longer is. In the instant of impact, he was forced to undergo a metamorphosis. And still, into what, he does not know.

Dimly, Ron's aware that he's not in this alone, but the inky edges of his vision and the low-level buzz in his ears preclude further investigation. There are what he assumes are tears soaking his stomach, and wails of agony are felt more than heard. Only now does he remember the friends who were with him, and attempts to pivot his head to look at them.

Instead, Ron in faced with the sight of his badly broken body, shoved under the wheels of a massive Muggle machine. His blood is hard to detect against the paint, but it lays puddling on the pavement and soaking through his clothes and splattered over Hermione's finery and Harry's shirt. Still, though, Ron is uncertain as to what caused this. He remembers the reception, the forced evacuation, then…bam, nothing.

Ron takes another look at his friends, noticing the unending tracks of tears on Hermione's cheeks and the wand gripped limply by Harry's side. Pieces slowly start to fall into place. They'd be helping them, if they could. They'd be trying to cover up the signs of magic, if they could. He'd be right in between them, if he could.

But he couldn't.

Because he was dead.

With that final realization, the floating entity that was Ronald Bilius Weasley passed from his current plane of existence to the next. Hermione lifted her head as she thought she saw an ethereal flicker by the crash site. Ever so briefly, a familiar outline emerged, gently nodding its head at her, before dispersing into the night. Hermione clutched her hands around her midsection and sobbed with the blame she felt, while Harry looked torn between consoling her and wondering why his people-saving thing hadn't done a damn bit of good. And Ron, at last, was at rest. But the Golden Trio was forever tarnished.


	2. Moment 2

**A.N. –** Here is the second moment (of what is shaping up to be many) of this collection. Again, it involves apparition. This time, a different party pays the price. This piece is less violent, but more sad this time around. See Ch. 1 for the disclaimer. Oh, and I have a C2 called Luna's Pensieve. It's full of Luna-centric stories that I feel have not received the recognition they're due. The stories there are far more uplifting than the content here.

 **Moment 2**

The salt air was biting to the already haggard Harry and Dumbledore as they shambled their way out of the sea cave which had held a horcrux. Dumbledore was unsure if he'd even be able to remain standing if it weren't for his student steadying him. Their prize had been hard-won, and Dumbledore knew his time was rapidly running out. He hoped that Harry would be able to at least bring him home to Hogwarts before that time came.

The Headmaster felt the tension in the body holding him snap taut as Harry prepared for his first attempt at side-alonging someone. Dumbledore did his best to brace himself and keep contact with Harry as the familiar but always disconcerting sensation took hold. Unbeknownst to either party, Harry's mind was at war as the journey unfolded. Harry's mind was of a single thought: to get to Hogsmeade and then Hogwarts to save Dumbledore.

The horcrux affixed to his curse scar, though, felt the swirling dark energies of his master infusing the cave they'd just left. It craved contact with the host it had lost, and was very reluctant to part with the affirming feeling of being close to Voldemort once again. And, as the horcrux was intrinsically part of Harry, the desire to stay seeped into the otherwise dead-set mind of the teen as the apparition took place.

The duo landed, none too gently, outside The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. The blanketing night, with no electric glow to permeate it, masked their arrival near completely. There was only a grunt of pain from Dumbledore as his all-too-frail body collapsed to the dirt and Harry fell on top of him. The boy stirred not a muscle as the aged Headmaster tried to roll the prone body off of him. In his current state, it took two tries. Harry ended up on his back, frame just as rigid as it had been the moment they departed. The Gryffindor made no move to acknowledge his new position, a fact which made Dumbledore's brow furrow.

Rosmerta bustled out of the pub they landed before, the wards around the establishment having triggered when interlopers came by after business hours. Her whole countenance changed when she saw who was sprawled by her front door. Lowering her drawn wand and gathering her dressing gown about her, she rushed over to check on the just-now-sitting-up Dumbledore. He shrugged off her well-meaning attempts to help him and instead beckoned her to examine the still silent Harry with him.

What they found was not promising.

His chest rose and fell with the tell-tale signs of breathing, but they found his eyes had gone unfocused when his eyelids were nudged open. Shaking Harry did not stir him, nor did Rosmerta's casting of _Rennervate_. Dumbldore, gathering what little strength he had, raised the Elder Wand and set about diagnosing the issue. What his scan told him, after 30 long seconds, made his already pale face go slack.

The horcrux residing in Harry was gone. The lingering effects of the malevolent hitchhiker were evident upon Harry's psyche. What Dumbledore, for the life of him, could not find was any other mental patterns active inside Harry's mind. Other than residue from Tom's soul fragment, Harry's brain was, for all intents and purposes, uninhabited. By all accounts, Harry should be dead, yet his autonomous systems were running just fine in absence of the brain commanding their functions. It was if the horcrux had fled, and it had taken the whole of what made Harry Potter who he was with him.

Albus Dumbledore was left staring, teary-eyed, at the husk of the Boy-Who-Lived. Here, in stark tangibility, were all of his failures coming to fruition. He had no time to give consideration to the dangerous possibility of a piece of Voldemort floating out on the aether. He had no consideration for his own quickly declining state of health. And, as Madam Rosmerta shakily pointed out the sickly green Dark Mark raised above the Astronomy Tower in the distance, the vaunted Leader of the Light could only bury his head in his hands at the crumbling of so many years worth of work.


	3. Moment 3

**A.N. –** Time for another beloved character to have something horrible befall them. This one hurts me, as it involves my favorite character in the Harry Potter pantheon. I also blended movie and book canon here to suit the timeline I wanted.

 **Moment 3**

Luna jauntily waved to the retreating form of Harry Potter after their cathartic discussion just before. She continued waving long after the teen had rounded the corner and gone out of sight. Somewhere inside, Luna was unwilling to let go so soon of the first positive sign of true friendship she'd been shown at Hogwarts. Sure, she'd been at the recent battle in the Department of Myserties, but she chalked that up more to circumstance than any true camaraderie. And she was a member of the DA, but Dumbledore's Army was almost a necessity for a Ravenclaw like herself to keep up with house standards in the face of their abhorrent professor.

Up until she'd bumped into the Boy Who Lived whilst tracking down her missing possessions, Luna truly thought she had no one on her side in the castle. Strangely enough, a talk about death shifted that perception. Harry, too, was saddled with an unwanted moniker born out of outsider's misconceptions. But that was not to be what they bonded over. Harry's raw, recent loss, and Luna's more distant, but still sore separation had the two breaking down walls neither knew they had built up.

But now Harry was off to catch the train, and Luna was sure he'd have a compartment full of friends awaiting his arrival. She, however, still had many of her possessions to track down, and very little time to do so. Finally letting her swaying hand drop, along with the tentative smile she'd sported since Harry's arrival, Luna looked up at her wayward trainers. Drawing her ever-present wand from behind her ear, she aimed at the brightly colored footwear.

. . . . .

Harry, out of breath, sagged into a seat on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione looked over at him with a small huff of exasperation, and Ron looked ready to ask if he was up for a game of chess. Forestalling both, Harry spoke.

"Hermione, yes I was late, yes, I know I should be more punctual," and here, Harry turned to also take in Ron while talking, "but all I feel like right now is a good long rest."

Ron sank into his seat, though not as deep as Harry, and frowned. Hermione also frowned, but looked more accepting. Sensing yet another blow-up over nothing between his best mates, Harry seriously considered excusing himself to find someone else to sit with. His talk with Luna, while beneficial in starting the healing process, in no way made it complete. He was still torn up with guilt over Sirius, and the abrasive mood within the compartment was doing him no favors for his mental health.

He was just about to get up and open the door when it opened as if summoned to do so. The Head Girl poked her head in, fulfilling her last duty to her school by performing the head count before they could depart. As the door slid shut, the tension seemed to drain away. The three friends looked at one another and agreed to drop it. They'd all had a long couple of days; frayed nerves were to be expected after what had occurred. Hermione (no surprise) cracked open a book. Ron, having been rebuffed in his attempts to start up a game, dug into his bag for some food. And Harry, lost once more in his own thoughts, looked out the window to the home he'd be departing.

They were not departing just then. In fact, the minutes seemed to painfully crawl by, and the wait got noticeable enough that Hermione finally marked her page and put down her book.

"Something's not right. I'm going to the prefect's carriage to see if we're needed," Hermione rose at her proclamation. Once again, the door opened unbidden, this time revealing the form of Minerva McGonagall. Her stern countenance had a pinched look to it, and her hat sat askew atop her head. She raised a hand up to halt her prefect.

"We seem to be missing a student, and seeing as who it is, I came to see you as soon as I was notified," McGonagall was all business, and seeing the gravity with which she was addressing them commanded the trio's full attention. "Would any of you have an idea of where Miss Lovegood might be?"

Harry nodded. "I ran into her a bit ago, before boarding. She was posting flyers for her stolen things," McGonagall's face darkened at that. "And while I couldn't help her find any at the time, I am sure she is still looking."

As the head of Gryffindor blustered out the compartment, Harry was aware enough to call out where he'd last seen her before the door slammed shut. He looked ready to charge after, but Hermione grabbed onto his arm.

"The teachers have this well in hand, Harry. Weren't you just deriding the amount of excitement in your life lately?" At Hermione's calmly delivered argument, the fight drained out of Harry. Merlin, he was tired. Massaging his temple, he sat back down. The only sign of the nervousness he displayed was not removing his hand from Hermione's.

. . . . .

Once inside the Entrance Hall, McGonagall performed a Point Me spell that sent her up two flights of stairs. The ambient magic interwoven in Hogwarts always made this particular method haphazard at best, but at least it narrowed the field down. As she ascended the moving staircases, she pondered the words (and punishment) she'd dole out once the girl was found. No matter if she had a good reason or not, the Hogwarts Express had a timetable to stick to. She decided on a sympathetic tack; Miss Lovegood had apparently already suffered enough, so she'd meter out the necessary discipline in as gentle a manor as she was able.

Rounding a corner into the Charms corridor, a wand laying in the center of the cold, stone corridor brought McGonagall up short. Looking to and fro, the Deputy Headmistress saw no sign of the missing girl. Then, she looked up, to an incongruous tableau.

There were the girl's shoes, dangling from the ceiling.

And there was the girl, swaying gently beside.


	4. Moment 4

**A.N. –** Time to revive this little collection from the dead (and no, not sorry for the pun). This time, instead of having Harry or someone he cares for be the subject, let's have a bully get magical comeuppance. I'm also taking book and movie canon and melding them again. So, you get Piers being present, but Dudley also winds up behind the glass. From that, you should know where this one's going. While this story has never been my most popular, I do have a half-dozen more ideas for it. So, on days off from posting for my Naruto story (like today), there might be new chapters of _this_ showing up instead.

 **Moment 4**

The glass vanished from the boa constrictor's habitat with no warning. Harry took a step back. Dudley, who'd been leaning as close to the barrier between reptile and man as possible, fell forward into the enclosure that the snake was rapidly fleeing from. His gut cushioned his fall, though the breath was knocked out of his lungs. Dudley's fat, stubby legs kicked fitfully over the edge of what used to be a viewing window, and Harry had to physically force himself to stop from laughing and instead listen to the boa's jaunty goodbye of , 'Brazil, here I come!"

Piers Polkiss started screaming bloody murder, more from the giant snake being loose than his best mate having taken a tumble. The boy's exclamations of fright sent the rest of the zo-goers in the reptile house scrambling for the exits. Bodies bounced off of Vernon and his massive girth, and the man shrugged the contact off. His wife, however, was knocked unceremoniously to the floor and had her hand trampled upon.

Vernon finally saw an opening to reach for his freak of a nephew through the thinning crowd and took it. A meaty fist closed around a far-too-thin wrist, and Harry swore he could hear the bones there grinding against each other. He lost sight of the snake as it slithered its way out the open door and into the daylight, and instead found himself with a faceful of seething walrus.

"You will put it right! This instant!" Vernon was apoplectic in his fury, and Harry wasn't feeling too much better in his quavering fear of his uncle. He truly hadn't meant for the glass to disappear, or even for Dudley to be caught up in its effects. While at first pleased with the mishap, Harry was now regretting his earlier mirth. His family always had a way of taking what little joys he had and thoroughly ruining them, and Harry had forgotten that sobering fact in the hullabaloo.

A stammered "I can't" was not a sufficient answer for an enraged Vernon. He forcibly grabbed Harry by the crown of the head and pivoted him so he was looking at Dudley, still face-down and wheezing in the otherwise empty habitat. Harry watched his cousin wriggle around like a flipped-over turtle unable to right itself and, despite the pain of his uncle's grip, began to smile.

A swift, hard kick to his shin saw the smile fall right off the boy's face. Vernon made no move to apologize for the violence, not that Harry expected him to. In truth, he expected a cuff to the back of the head and more sputtered indignities about how he was to blame and how freakish he was. It seemed, though, that Vernon was so red – almost purple – in the face that words were beyond him.

Harry decided that any action would be better than his uncle continuing his diatribe, and so he concentrated on the glass reappearing in the vacant space it once occupied. His stomach roiled at the effort and the fear of reprisal should he not be able to fix this. He knew the damage was already done, though; he'd inadvertently harmed their precious Diddikins and would be made to pay for it far beyond what was called for.

The tension suffusing his body suddenly snapped, and Harry opened his eyes wide, unaware he'd clenched them shut in his worry. His eyes grew even wider as Piers started screaming again, this time in concert with the agonized bellows coming from Dudley. Petunia fainted dead away, and Vernon went slack, his hands dropping from Harry's person as his mouth hung agape. Harry himself was the last to realize what had just happened.

The pane of glass was back in place, as sturdy as it had been before Harry's burst of accidental magic. That once-pristine piece of clear glass was now vividly splattered in red, dripping in large spurts. Unfortunately for Dudley, his chubby legs lay directly in the path of the enclosure's barrier. So, when Harry's more concentrated effort at magic had caused the glass to pop back, it had done so with massive force upon his lower extremities. Both of Dudley's legs had been severed just above the ankle, leaving smooth wounds behind. His feet rested upon the concrete floor, still trainer-clad and softly disgorging what little blood was left in them. Dudley's legs, though, were another story. They continued to release Dudley's essence in a dwindling flow as the flailing of the mangled limbs slowed.

The glass did a poor job at concealing the wails of anguish on the other side. Dudley was bleeding out in front of them all, in horrible pain, and the group were collectively stunned still. Writhing that Harry had found humor in just a minute ago was now an exercise in torture. His cousin was progressively getting more lethargic in his movements, his voice weaker as his vocal cords shredded under the constant strain of screaming. Though none of them could see it from their vantage point, Dudley had bit through his tongue at the moment of impact and was slowly drowning in the remaining blood he had.

All of the noise (and quite possibly the gaggle of concerned patrons) had brought a zoo official to the door of the reptile house. The man paled, taking in the rapidly-growing pool of blood and the various states of those around (and in) the mess. The two boys both looked shell-shocked. The one with the glasses had his whole front coated in blood, though he seemed too out of it to notice that fact. The other was pounding his fists upon the glass of the nearest enclosure, tears streaming down his face and a mantra of "nonoNO" pouring from his mouth. Who he assumed were the parents were both still – the wife from having fainted, and the husband likely in simple helplessness.

Well, he had a mess to clean up. And a _lot_ of paperwork to fill out. The official swiftly, quietly, exited the scene, not wishing to stay to witness what he knew would be a heart-rending tableau he had no part in. He shut the door behind him, flipping the sign on it to 'closed.' No one else needed that horror seared into their brains today.

 **A.N. 2 –** I could've put a warning about the gore, but that sort of defeats the purpose of it as shock value. While putting trigger warnings for other things I'm OK with, by now the reader should know what to expect from this, and it isn't warm fuzzies.

Freeing myself from the 100-word constraint of Observational Skills was a nice break. I should be back to that story tomorrow. If you have ideas, either for this story or others, leave me a review! I respond to most of them that aren't just two or three word snippets.


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